The Sanest Thing
by Freckles04
Summary: Elissa Cousland is left to face the future alone after King Alistair sacrifices himself to save her and his country. One-shot.


_A/N: The world and characters of Dragon Age belong to BioWare, and I offer my deepest thanks to that company for encouraging community creations._

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_"This is the sanest thing I've ever done."_

His words echoed in Elissa's ears as the Queen spoke, nearly drowning out Anora's voice and the cheering of the nobles gathered before the throne. Her head felt as though it was stuffed with linen, her mind slow and unresponsive. It took her a minute to realize that the Queen had stopped speaking and was waiting for a response of some kind. What were her plans?

"I don't know," she lied.

Disappointment flickered across Anora's features, quickly masked with a gentle smile. "Whatever you decide, you are most welcome throughout Ferelden, Hero. We are forever in your debt."

Not in her debt. His.

"Thank you, your Majesty," she managed.

The Queen turned and stepped aside, giving Elissa room to descend to the floor to speak with the people staring at her with a range of emotions displayed across their faces: awe, gratitude, thankfulness, relief, joy. Not one face reflected the sorrow she felt.

So that was it? He was to be forgotten so quickly?

"There's my little sister." She'd had but a brief moment to speak with her brother before the ceremony. She should feel something at seeing him, but all the emotions had been bled from her. Fergus pulled her into an embrace, and she let him, not caring that the Hero of Ferelden should probably not display such weakness in public. What did it matter now?

"I could hardly believe it when I'd heard that you were a Grey Warden and leading Ferelden into battle. Or that you were to be--" He broke off, his eyes darkening. "Are you all right?"

She stared at him blankly, wondering if she had the strength to dredge up another lie. "Yes," she said. At least her voice was steady, even though it sounded dead to her ears.

Judging by the dipping of his brows, Fergus heard the flat note as well, but he didn't comment. "I'm heading back to Highever after the celebration. Why don't you come home?"

Home.

_"Do you have anywhere you consider home?"_

_"I guess my home is with the Grey Wardens now. With you."_

Elissa blinked. "Later. I'm not…not ready yet."

Her brother's lips pressed into a thin line. "I understand. When I found out what had happened, what Howe had done…" He shook his head. "Highever will always be there for you, Elissa. Please remember that." He clapped his hand on her shoulder, the metal of his glove scraping against her epaulet. "Go. There are others who want to speak with you. I'll see you before I leave."

She took a few steps away, then stared dumbly at the people surrounding her. Familiar faces blended into those of strangers', until the crowd before her was just a mass of shapes and colors that meant nothing. Beyond the wooden doors at the end of the hall, she could hear the rising chorus of cheers as the citizens gathered outside shouted their welcome to the Hero of Ferelden.

No, this was wrong. She'd done nothing. _He'd_ stopped the Blight. They should be cheering their King in his fine golden armor, his reddish hair glinting in the sunlight, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at their admiration.

Instead, they'd all but put his memory aside, like he was nothing more than a hiccup in Ferelden's history.

"Warden?" Zevran's soft, accented voice at her elbow startled her. The numbness that had permeated her soul threatened to abandon her at her friend's concern. No. She couldn't feel. She wouldn't let herself feel.

"I need to go, Zev," she whispered. "Get me out of here."

"What about the parade? The people want to celebrate their hero."

Elissa cast a glance at the assassin, pulling her mantle of numbness back in place. "Their hero is dead."

###

_"So. Where do we go from here?"_

_"We stick together, no matter what."_

_"I can handle that. I hope."_

"Warden. This is a pleasant surprise."

Elissa looked up from her tankard of ale at the auburn-haired dwarf. Dulin Forender wore the same battleworn armor as when she'd first met him, despite now being King Harrowmont's General. It suited him, she supposed. Dulin had never struck her as a man who would brook unnecessary pretense.

"Dulin," she said simply, taking another dreg of ale. Oghren had once insisted dwarven ale tasted like dirt because there was dirt in it. She had no reason to doubt him, not with this swill clogging up her throat.

_"I tried dwarven ale once. I thought it was just something they tricked surfacers into drinking, as a joke."_

She closed her eyes and swallowed the rest of the horrible beverage.

"I doubted the watch commander when he said you'd entered the city. I owe him an apology," Dulin continued, taking the seat beside her. "What can we do for you, Warden?"

"Nothing, Dulin. Thank you." She slapped a sovereign on the bar and rose.

"News from the surface has been unreliable these last few weeks, though I did hear something about you becoming Queen. I suppose congratulations are in order."

"No." Elissa shouldered her pack. "The King is dead. He ended the Blight, not I. He is the hero, not I." She strode away from the bar, feeling all eyes following her and simply not caring.

"Warden, I--" Dulin caught up with her as she shoved the door open to the Commons. "I'm sorry. We hadn't heard. But if the King is dead, aren't you needed in Denerim? Why are you here?"

She stared down at the dwarf. He fell back a step, intimidated by whatever he saw in her face. Wordlessly, she stepped into the Commons. No one followed.

###

_"The taint--it's a death sentence. When the time comes, most Grey Wardens head to Orzammar to die in battle, instead of…waiting. It's tradition."_

The last time she'd been here, it hadn't been this quiet. There had always been a murmur in the distance--the sound of thousands of darkspawn shuffling along the rock, their grunts and shouts melding into a dim cacophony. But now, the Dead Trenches felt truly dead. Nothing stirred. She hadn't even seen any Legionnaires. The Dead Caste had either moved on elsewhere, or were enjoying the slight reprieve before their never-ending battle resumed.

There were some darkspawn about. Elissa could feel them like a film of oil on her skin and marched toward them without hesitation. Almost there. She dropped her pack, heedless of where it fell. She wouldn't need it any longer.

When she spotted the first genlock, she released the numbness she'd wrapped herself in. For the first time since Fort Drakon, she let herself feel.

Her roar echoed in the chamber, filling it with rage and grief and horror and regret. The genlock's head whipped in her direction, its eyes widening. She unlatched her swords from her back and swept them toward the creature, neatly separating its head from its body. She screamed again--love and sorrow and pain. Her swords struck down another darkspawn, and another. They swarmed her in earnest now, almost as though they recognized her as the one who'd cut down their brethren on the surface.

She was back in the Kocari Wilds, before the Grey Wardens were decimated. The first time she had fought with him at her back, the first time she'd seen his prowess with a shield. The first time she'd felt a tingle of attraction.

She cut down another darkspawn, and another. Using the talents he'd taught her, she disabled an emissary before it could cast a spell, draining its mana. She remembered sitting beside him, by the fire at camp, as he trained her to clear her mind and command the abilities that would make her a templar. Though without the lovely uniform.

A sword scored her arm. She hissed, her blade dropping from senseless fingers. She blocked a swing with the weapon in her off-hand, then danced in a semi-circle, sweeping out her blade to keep her attackers at bay until she could retrieve the fallen sword. Blood coated her palm, making her grip unsure, but it didn't matter.

_"My first and last act will be to end the Blight. No one can blame me for that, could they?"_

"Damn you!" The words ripped themselves from Elissa's throat, leaving her voice hoarse and unfamiliar. Instead of the darkspawn rushing toward her, she saw the fallen archdemon. She saw him--her heart, her Alistair--standing beside her, love in his eyes.

_"I won't let you die. Not when I could do something about it."_

"This is crazy," she whispered, thrusting her sword into a hurlock's chest, then letting go.

She straightened. Her second sword dropped from her hand, clattering against the stone. The darkspawn surrounding her paused, uncertain.

She closed her eyes, feeling his lips on hers, seeing his face in front of her, his eyes open as though he couldn't bear to miss any of their last moments together. Pain ripped through her, but it was distant. Not real. She fell, but in her mind's eye, he caught her. Held her. Cushioned her against his chest.

She smiled up at him. "This is the sanest thing I've ever done."


End file.
